


Alone Together

by margarks



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Episode: s03e02 Chaos Rising, Fluff and Angst, Post-Episode: s02e04 Abomination
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-21
Updated: 2014-02-21
Packaged: 2018-01-13 05:46:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1214950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/margarks/pseuds/margarks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I rewatched Abomination the other night and got to thinking about how Stiles must have felt laying paralyzed on that floor and this is what came out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Alone Together

**Author's Note:**

> No beta, so feel free to let me know if you see any crazy typos.

Stiles doesn't tell anyone when the dreams start. He can't tell his dad about the terror and the helplessness he'd felt laying on that floor. Can't explain to anyone what it feels like to be paralyzed while listening to someone beg for their lives in agonizingly soft whispers. Can't admit the shame of cowardice that washes over him as he remembers closing his eyes at the very last moment.

It's stupid because it's over. Jackson is his old douche bag self and Gerard, the fucker, probably crawled off to die in an alley somewhere. But Stiles still wakes up some nights with his heart pounding in his ears and the taste of bile in the back of his throat.

He thinks about Derek some nights when he's lying awake, the nightmare an echo of sound in the silence of his room. He's read the reports, knows that Derek got home before the house had completely burned. Wonders if he'd heard any of the screams, if he's even more haunted than Scott or any of the others know. Because Stiles hadn't even known that mechanic for five minutes, but he can still hear those whispers, can still hear the trembling fear in that voice.

It's those thoughts, that ache in his chest, that makes Stiles reach out one night. 

Derek has this look on his face, more of a grimace than his usual scowl, and Stiles thinks maybe it's a memory hitting him the wrong way. Not that Stiles is sure that any of Derek's memories can hit him the right way at this point. And before he even realizes it his fingers are wrapped, albeit loosely, around Derek's wrist. Derek's eyes snap to his, guarded and wary, so Stiles just squeezes lightly before releasing him with a shrug. After that it gets easier, and each time Stiles touches Derek it seems to ease something inside himself. Derek gets less and less tense each time as well, and even once presses his palm to the small of Stiles's back as they walk out of the loft without any prompting.

But then, then Heather dies. And Stiles had been right there again. He'd been right there with her and then she was gone. 

He's both surprised and not when there's a flash of movement at his window late that night. He's in bed with the lights off and the house empty and he thinks he should probably be more afraid, more cautious. But he knows even before the figure straightens and resolves into a person that it's Derek. 

"Stiles," Derek says and instead of answering Stiles gulps in a breath to stave off embarrassing tears.

At first Derek looks a little panicked, his hand briefly squeezing Stiles's shoulder before moving to wrap around Stiles's wrist. His thumb rubs softly across Stiles's pulse point, over and over in a rhythmic pattern that's soothing but not enough. Stiles starts to shake and he pulls free of Derek's grip, turning away to press his face against the pillow.

He feels ridiculous - young and stupid and embarrassed. But Derek doesn't say a word. Instead, Stiles feels the bed dip behind him, feels the covers shift and suddenly there's a strong arm around him and the heat of Derek at his back. It should feel awkward being so up close and personal with a guy he barely knows, but instead it's easy. It's easy to let himself sink into Derek's warmth to let Derek's strength seep into his subconsciousness and ease the constant fear living inside of him.

And he realizes that this isn't some guy he barely knows. This is Derek. And maybe nobody really knows Derek, but Stiles can't deny that it _feels_ like he does. A little. Like there's something the two of them share that maybe no one else can really understand.

He turns to press his face to the curve of Derek's throat instead, inhaling the scent of him - earth and salt and warm familiarity. It eases some of the tension that's been coiled inside him since he saw Heather's pale face staring back at him from between the folds of her body bag. Stiles doesn't realize he's gasping for breath until Derek's hand cradles the back of his head and he rumbles something that Stiles thinks wasn't actually meant to be words above him.

Derek's hands feel good skimming up and down Stiles's back, his arms wrapped tight, but not constricting around Stiles's body. He feels... sheltered, for lack of a better word. Like Derek understands the chaos of emotion inside him right now and is willing to weather the storm with Stiles, for Stiles. Each muscle in his body relaxes by slow degrees as he molds himself to Derek's welcoming form. His eyes become too heavy to hold open and he lets them slide shut with a sigh. Stiles doesn't jolt in surprise when Derek's lips brush against his forehead and his cheek rasps against Stiles's temple.

Instead, Stiles nuzzles back as he drifts into sleep.

For the first time in a long time Stiles doesn't wake until the warmth of the sun on his face becomes too irritating to ignore. He's disappointed, but again not surprised, to find that Derek is gone. He thinks it's probably for the best considering he can hear his dad moving around downstairs. Except he can't stop thinking about Derek all day. During breakfast with his dad. While he's forced to mow the back yard. And when Scott calls to ask about his chemistry notes but instead spends the entire hour talking about how hard it is to have Allison in history with him.

He thinks about Derek and about how he'd felt last night, about how they'd felt together. He thinks about what it means that Derek even showed up last night, and that he knew what Stiles needed. He thinks about all the times they'd touched and all the looks they've shared over the past few months. And by the time sunset rolls around, Stiles finds himself knocking on Derek's loft door.

Derek hesitates, looking unsure before stepping aside to let Stiles enter.

"I, uh, wanted to thank you," Stiles says.

He appreciates that Derek doesn't try to play it off as no big deal, but just nods instead. "Okay."

Stiles is full of nervous energy, so full he feels like he's going to burst any second. He takes a deep breath, then surges forward and presses a crooked kiss to Derek's lips pulling away awkwardly when Derek doesn't respond.

"Stiles - "

"No," Stiles says, shaking his head. "No. If you don't - I mean, if you aren't - if you - shit!" Stiles scrubs a hand over his face and takes another bracing breath. "If you aren't interested in me, or you know, don't feel the same way about me that I think I feel about you, then fine." He slashes his hand through the air. "But if you're going to say something stupid like I'm too young, or, or, _anything_ like that, then no. Just no."

Derek stares at him for what seems like a long time before he says, "What do you think you feel about me?"

"Ugh! I don't know," Stiles says, flopping down onto the steps that lead into the main part of the loft. He stares at his hand and the spiderweb of lines crisscrossing his palm and adds softly, "I care about you. I feel like I _know_ you and that maybe, I don't know, maybe I want to know more." He shrugs as Derek takes a seat beside him, long legs stretching out next to Stiles. 

Derek sighs. "Stiles, whether we like it or not, you are young."

"We?" Stiles couldn't help his hopeful tone.

Derek isn't looking at him when he says, "I didn't want you to be alone last night."

"Why?" Stiles asks. 

"You know why," Derek says.

"I thought I did," Stiles says. "But you didn't kiss me back." His face reddens with remembered embarrassment.

"Stiles," Derek says, making Stiles glance up. 

The heat in Stiles's cheeks increases when he sees the way Derek's eyes track his blush, dark gaze ending at Stiles's mouth. He licks his lips reflexively and nearly loses it when Derek groans.

"Not because I didn't want to."

"Then why?" Stiles says, but continues without giving Derek a chance to answer. "Will you kiss me now?" Derek hesitates again and Stiles can't help adding a soft, "Please?" 

He sees the moment Derek gives in. 

A shiver of anticipation snakes through him as Derek shifts closer. And he shivers at the first scrape of Derek's stubble against his skin. Derek's mouth covers his and Stiles opens to him, groaning at the tentative touch of Derek's tongue. 

It's not his first kiss, but it's different than any he's had before. Despite the arousal zinging through him, there's something almost innocent about the careful way that Derek touches him. There's a longing in Derek's kiss that Stiles can practically taste. 

And Stiles isn't fragile or weak, but he kind of likes the protective vibes Derek is giving off. It makes something warm bloom inside of him. Something similar to, but deeper than what he felt last night with Derek wrapped around him. His lips are still tingling when they pull apart. 

They stare at each other for awhile before Stiles says, "You shouldn't be alone either."

"Maybe." Derek ducks his head, the tips of his ears reddening. "Maybe I'm not."

Stiles's grin is so wide it almost hurts.

THE END.


End file.
